


Then to my knees you do promote me

by illuminatedcities



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 02:43:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3919912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illuminatedcities/pseuds/illuminatedcities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can see the flash of arousal behind the impassive face, but Finch’s voice betrays nothing when he says:</p>
<p>“It’s not much of a punishment if you beg me for it, is it?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then to my knees you do promote me

“A bullet to the head, Mr. Reese, and return to the apartment immediately after.”

Finch’s voice in his ear is clipped, polite: A hair trigger.

One clean shot through the skull and John kneels to check for a pulse, gets some blood on his expensive leather gloves: Finch likes proof.

He makes himself take the long road back, an extra ten minutes that make him shudder with anticipation.

John parks the car in front of the abandoned factory building and takes the elevator all the way up to the loft, a gorgeous interior space with a massive wooden bed and floor to ceiling windows that have the light pouring in. John has come to know the polished hardwood floor intimately from all the time he spent kneeling on it.

Finch sits at the workstation, his back turned. John can see his pristine white collar, the movement of the expensive fabric of his suit jacket over the stretch of his shoulders as he types.

“I expected you earlier, John,” Finch says.

His voice is even, always in control, but John can tell that he is dismayed by John’s disregard of his orders. Good.

“It’s done,” John says, taking his gun out of the shoulder holster and putting it down on a table. Another day, another pawn in Finch’s eternal game of chess.

“Come here,” Finch says, sharp as a whip, and the sound goes straight to John’s cock.

He takes a step forward, but Finch snaps his fingers, and John freezes on the spot.

“I did not say ‘walk’,” Finch says, turning the entire chair around to finally look at John.

Finch pointedly looks down at the floor and John sinks down to his knees, crawling the distance between them on his hands and knees, leaving red marks on the wood where the blood comes off his gloves. He keeps his eyes down on the floor until he can see the polished tips of Finch’s thousand dollar shoes.

A hand lands in his neck, stroking through his hair, and John makes a guttural sound of pleasure at the touch, relishing every bit of praise. He loves games, but this one is his favorite, probably because it’s not much of a game at all:

He really would kneel for Finch in an instant, would bend to his every whim.

“Show me your hands,” Finch says.

John does. He can smell the metallic tang of blood on the leather as Finch takes them off.

“What should I do with you,” he says, one thumb pressed firmly under John’s jaw, pushing his chin up. “So good at cruelty, so precise, yet so very disobedient at times. Tell me, John, do you want me to punish you?”

Finch runs his thumb over the curve of John’s jaw, and John’s tongue darts out to lick it, draw Finch’s thumb into his mouth. Finch slaps him across the face, a sweet hot sting that makes John gasp for air.

“Did I tell you to do that?” Finch asks sweetly.

“No,” John says, blinking rapidly, the spark of pain making his eyes water.

“‘No’ is correct,” Finch says. “Again: Do you want me to punish you?”

“Yes,” John says, the sound rushing out of him in one breath.

He will take whatever Finch is willing to give him, pleasure, pain, everything in between. He will set fire to the world if that is what Finch wants, pull the trigger, twist the knife.

“Please.”

He can see the flash of arousal behind the impassive face, but Finch’s voice betrays nothing when he says:

“It’s not much of a punishment if you beg me for it, is it?”

John looks up at him through his lashes.

“You love to see me beg,” he says, momentarily slipping out of character.

Finch laughs, a low, promising sound that makes John shiver.

“Such a good boy,” Finch says, smooth as silk, and puts his hand against John’s cheek.

John turns his head to kiss it, mouthing the soft skin of his palm.

“I think I’ll tie you up and make you beg some more,” Finch says, and John presses his cheek against his fingers, grateful.


End file.
